He's Not Coming Back
by LittleSnidget
Summary: George is in the flat above his shop, remembering and missing. His life was turned upside down, but after so many years, has he managed to turn it the right way up again? This is Fred related angst and is narrated by George. Fred II and Angelina are only briefly included. Excuse the bad summary, it's hard to summarise a 600 word story and I suck at summaries. Please read :)


**A/N: So I wrote this for a controlled assessment in English, which quite literally told us to write a piece of fan fiction. Any feedback is extremely welcome if you have any at all, but I never put pressure on people to review because I don't like that. Please be warned that, because I wrote it for a CAT, I focused more on using techniques and linguistic devises rather than the quality of the actual story so this isn't exactly going to be my best. But I'm not trying to make excuses. I should stop rambling now.**

**He's Not Coming Back**

The room feels empty. I picture you by my side, joking about the mess. Picking my way through the rubble left by the brilliant tornadoes called my children, I come to a stop at your door. Chipped and worn, I feel the scratches and dents as I run my fingers over it. The door has not been opened since you closed it all those years ago. It beckons for me to enter, but I am too used to resisting its siren's call. Shaking my head, I turn and march to the stairs to our shop. I do not know why I go there; it is a playroom now, nothing more.

But I miss what it once was.

As I enter the old storeroom, a wave of nostalgia crashes over me, crushing me and taking away my breath. In the centre of the room is a workbench coated with a thick layer of dust that begs to be wiped away, as are the empty shelves and the unused packaging huddled in the corners of the room. I can smell the scent that only comes when something is so disused and dusty it has no more hope. It smells almost stale, stale and dusty. However, I must not move things. If I move things, how will you know where they are when you come back?

_He's not coming back, George._

Angelina's voice echoes in my mind, but it is quickly replaced by the deafening silence of the room. I know it is foolish to think you are coming back, but my heart is not convinced. On the topmost shelf is your last prototype, held together precariously by magic. I do not know what it does; I never got the chance to ask.

Leaving the numbing cold of the storeroom behind, I fix the tie you gave me when we opened the shop and step onto the shop floor. It holds me together as I mingle with the customers. It squeezes me tightly like you used to do. After all, it is my last little reminder of you. I talk to the customers, my friends, our family, with your exuberance and charm because you took mine with you when you left this world. Hearing the people around me buzz with life and laughter, I wonder if I am capable of that without you. My heart tells me I'm not and I listen to it.

Cautiously, like a mouse in the night, someone approaches me and asks me about the photograph on the products. Your face is printed on everything, but she assumes it is mine. When she asks why I use such an old picture, and I tell her it is because it is the newest one we have of you. It was taken two months before… before someone decided you were no longer needed on this Earth.

Moments later, we were enveloped in darkness; a darkness so intrusive it felt like someone had taken every source of light from the world. My hand reaches for my neck and I feel you there, holding on tight, I stroke the silken fabric and move forwards with purpose.

Peruvian instant darkness powder. I remember when you discovered it at a wholesaler's. We took a sample home and we sat on the crimson carpet, the midday sun streaming in solid beams through our window. The instant that powder hit the floor, the room became darker than night. However, rather than showing fear, we were giddy with excitement. Rolling on the floor, we laughed until our sides ached.

As soon as the darkness withdraws and the customer is reprimanded, I hear a voice call my name. It is Angelina. By her side is the wonderful menace I wish you could have met. He has your name, and even our face, but he is not you, brother. I loop my tie around his neck and whisper into his ear, "Ready, Fred?" He is not you, but he will have to do.


End file.
